The Not So Domestic Adventures of Aurora Watson
by Nerdy-Without-A-Doubt
Summary: As told by her overprotective adoptive father, this is a sequel to "Born Mad". Providing more insight into Aurora's life as an escapee from an insane asylum, John writes his reports on how his new daughter attempts to adapt to her new life as a Watson and, even more challenging, as a normal, twelve year-old kid. Needless to say, not everything goes as smoothly as he hoped.
1. Prologue

_Prologue_

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><p>Adopting Aurora had easily been the best decision of my life. Throughout that whole Parkhurst ordeal, I had become practically smitten with the dear thing, and when I saw her holding my military issued revolver, pointing it at her disgraceful parents, I knew that all I needed to do was tell her, make her realize that she wasn't mad for just wanting a little love or care. Those sick bastards had truly made her believe that she was insane, that she wasn't worthy of affection or compassion, but I made it my duty to show her otherwise, to help her adapt to the new life I was trying to give her. It had been taking longer than I first expected, but I do not think the constant rows she endured did her any good.<p>

I just could not figure out why anyone would want to harm Aurora. Now, she was about the size of a ten year-old in spite of her age of twelve, but she was truly adorable despite her downright meticulous and, well, rather ferocious attitude. She had a round face, accented by these big, cocoa brown eyes and a brilliant smile. Her hair was as dark as obsidian, falling just beneath her shoulders in almost-curls (not quite curly, but not quite wavy) and contrasting greatly with her pale white skin. She usually wore simple clothes, though formal. Normally, you could find her a button down shirt (varying in color) and simple black dress trousers along with a black blazer. It was honestly adorable how formal she could act when she was just a kid, and I told her such. She was just a kid who suffered as any kid would, and that included nightmares.

She never talked about them, simply clinging to my side even more obsessively than she did if she _didn't _have a bad dream the previous night. I never could get her to open up, but I also could never bring myself to deny her an embrace, my arms always open for the tiny, scared twelve year-old kid I had come to call my daughter.

It was mid-November, the twenty-first, I think, when Aurora finally admitted she couldn't take her nightmares alone. I woke to a soft crying, and I bolted out of bed in fear, thinking something had happened to Aurora yet again. I remember pulling open the door, nearly tripping over the small bundle perched right outside my room. She was curled up in a ball against the doorway, knees pulled up against her chest and face buried in her arms. She was crying quietly, sniffling slightly, and I was too shocked to do anything but stare until she whimpered, "I- I didn't mean to wake you, but I had a nightmare and wanted to- to be close."

I wanted nothing more than to hug the poor thing close at that point, and I would have had I not looked down at myself and realized that I was in nothing more than a pair of shorts.

I didn't think anybody would approve of being hugged by that, especially not a twelve year-old girl.

"Sweetheart?" I whispered delicately, gently brushing my hand across her forehead and wincing instinctively when I could feel a raging fever with just that simple touch. "Aurora, Honey, why don't you go on and head to the kitchen? I just need to pull on some clothes, and I'll be down there in a sec, alright?"

"I- I don't-"

At her falter, I pressed a kiss to her forehead, promising, "You don't have to if you don't want to. I'll be right inside, okay? Don't hesitate to come in if you need me."

With that, I reentered my room, rummaging around my dresser for something to wear. I eventually ended up wearing an old pair of grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt, just grabbing whatever I saw first. It wasn't long after that that we were sitting at the kitchen table, a newly brewed mug of hot chocolate in Aurora's hands.

"So, what's the matter?"

"I-" She hesitated, ducking her head and hiding her face in her long locks. "I couldn't fall asleep all night."

"At all?"

She shook her head. "Every- Every time I did, I woke up almost immediately from another one."

"Another nightmare?"

She bobbed her head up and down in a nod, finally meeting my eyes as tears streamed down her cheeks. "Dad, what if Moriarty's not done with me? I- I barely made it out of there the first time, and I don't think I could do it again. Or- or what if Mycroft didn't take care of _all_ the men at Parkhurst? What if my parents come back and contest the adoption? What if-?"

I silenced her by wrapping my arms so tightly around her I may have cut off blood circulation. I held her head to my chest, letting her small hands mat themselves in my shirt while I gently hushed her with soft words.

"Sweetheart, it's over and done with now," I soothed, stroking her hair back and untangling it with my fingers. "I can promise you that Mycroft took care of _everyone_ at Parkhurst. He shut down the entire asylum, and he assured me personally that Veneel will regret ever touching you. Also, Mycroft saw to the adoption immediately and personally so there would be no waiting, and he even said your parents are being heavily watched and being ripped of their ambassadorships for what they've done to you."

I smiled down at her, kissing her forehead gently when she looked up to me. "I will promise you that nobody, and I do mean _nobody_, will ever get away with hurting you again because you are _my_ little Aurora Watson, and no one can ever take you away from me as long as I'm here."

Of course, a week or so later, she was taken from me.

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><p><strong>To the new followers of my series: welcome! To the old followers: hello again and here's that sequel I promised you! Any criticism is welcome, per usual. Reviews keep me going, so, if you have time, let me know what you think! I hope you enjoyed your reading, and I'll see ya soon! :)<strong>


	2. Chapter 1: A Great Game Part I

_**Chapter 1**_

_**"A Great Game Part I"**_

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><p>"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?" I demanded, helping Aurora out from where she hid beneath the table upon hearing gunshots. "You should know better than to do that with Aurora here!"<p>

"I'm _bored_, John."

"Bored?" I asked incredulously before clamping my hands over Aurora's ears as he fired several more rounds at the smiley-face ridden wall. All this was done with an overdramatic air that was really quite unnecessary and had me glaring at the detective. As soon as he dropped his arm, I snatched the pistol from him and removed the clip, giving my daughter an apologetic glance as she cursed beneath her breath about making faulty conclusions.

"Bored, John. _Bored._"

"So you take it out on the wall," I concluded with a sigh, realizing that poor Mrs. Hudson would have had a heart attack in her flat below if she had been present.

"The wall had it coming," he dismissed, trailing his finger along the new bullet holes before flopping onto his couch with a (once again unneeded) dramatic flair. "I need a case, John. I don't understand what's gotten into the criminal classes- Not a single decent case."

"There was that Russian one," I pointed out, slipping the revolver into the safe at our dining table before straightening.

"Belarus. Open and shut domestic murder. Not worth his time," Aurora shrugged with a cheeky grin, and I couldn't resist the urge to tuck her under my arm and ruffle her hair furiously with her giggling for me to stop.

"Oh, it's a _shame_, that is," I grinned, placing a quick kiss atop her hair as I pulled away before giving it one last tousle. I turned round to enter the kitchen, calling, "Anything in? I'm starving."

I opened the fridge, stared at the contents for a moment, and then slammed it shut and nearly cussed in front of my daughter. There was a head, just sitting on a platter in the fridge.

"There's a head," I whispered matter-of-factly to myself before carefully reopening the fridge and slamming it shut again. "Yep. That's a head."

I made my back to the living room , glaring down the detective with "There's a severed _head_ in the kitchen!"

"Just tea for me thanks," was Sherlock's casual answer whereas Aurora leapt to her feet with a happy, "Oh, can I see?"

She raced past me before I could stop her, unable to help but smile slightly at her actions. "Uncle Sherlock, you're testing the coagulation of saliva after death, aren't you? Oh, bloody brilliant I say."

"Sweetheart, don't touch that," I scolded without even looking, knowing full well that she'd listen to me. Despite her cheeky attitude Aurora was nearly the definition of the perfect child, always doing what she was told and never one to shy away from a good hug.

"Can I prod at it with scalpels I swiped from the morgue?"

Like I said. She was _nearly_ the perfect child.

I turned to face her at her question, crossing my arms against my chest stubbornly. "I hope you know the answer to that."

"Right, right. Sorry. I'll be in my room."

"So," Sherlock started, waving a hand towards my laptop, "I see you wrote up that cabbie case."

And this began a series of insults directed to my blog, my writing, and myself which turned into what our beloved landlady likes to call a "domestic" that all ended up with me shouting to Aurora that I was going out.

"Where ya going?"

I couldn't help the smile that spread across my lips when she peeked her head out of her bedroom, cocoa eyes bright with curiosity.

"I'm going to Sarah's. I just need some time to recuperate from _him_."

"Can I come?"

"Sweetheart, I don't think that's the best idea. Somebody needs to make sure Sherlock doesn't blow up the flat, yeah?"

She frowned at me, opening the door to her room fully so she could stand in the doorway, her little arms crossed against my chest. "You're going to stay at_ Sarah Sawyer's._"

"Yes."

"_Overnight_."

"Yes."

"Just the two of you."

I could see where this was going and laughed softly. "You have no need to worry, Sweetheart. I know your opinion on all that, and you made me promise that I'd tell you when my relationships were getting serious and to _that_ point."

"Promise you won't?"

"I feel rather awkward discussing this with my daughter. Doesn't this talk usually go the other way around?"

She glared at me, giving a huff of indignation before plopping down on her bed. "Yeah, well, you don't have to worry about that with me."

"Not yet, Aurora. I promise," I swore, unable to help but roll my eyes at her immediately pleased look. "Now can I go? Really, I didn't think I'd need to get permission out of you."

She tackled me in a hug, burying her face in my chest so her voice came out all muffled as she mumbled, "Promise you'll come back in the mornin'? In case I 'ave another nightmare?"

"I promise." I placed a quick kiss on her forehead before gently pulling away. I ruffled her hair just for good measure to make her giggle as I headed to the door. "Now no dissections while I'm gone! You know how Mrs. Hudson feels about you using her good china."

I heard her curse about ruined plans, and I couldn't help but laugh fondly beneath my breath.

"That's my girl."

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><p><strong>I don't know, I just really like the idea of Aurora being this little goody-two-shoes kid in some cases (like in her discussion about Sarah) but also being the complete opposite in other cases (like swiping scalpels from poor Molly at the morgue). Anyways, drop a review! All criticism is welcome! Seriously, though, I'd love to hear your thoughts!<strong>


	3. Chapter 2: A Great Game Part II

_**Chapter 2**_

_**"A Great Game Part II"**_

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><p>"Good morning."<p>

I turned my head at Sarah's voice, groaning as the crick in my neck made itself known. "Good morning."

"See? I told you you should have gone with the lilo," Sarah hummed disapprovingly, reaching around me for the remote before propping herself up on the arm of the couch I had slept on.

"No, no. I'm fine… It was very kind of you."

She grinned at me, a little suggestive glint in her eye. "Maybe next time I should let you kip at the foot of the bed."

I scoffed at that, still rubbing my neck as I fixed my eyes on the Telly in front of us. "You know better than that, Sarah. Besides, do you want Aurora after you? I've no doubt she wouldn't approve."

"She doesn't like me, does she?"

"You've got to cut her some slack," I sighed. "She'd been cut off from society for her entire life without a caring soul around. She was _tortured_, Sarah. It's going to take time for her to trust."

"Why does she trust you so easily? And Sherlock?"

I dismissed her rather cold tone and instead answered softly, "Because I guess we were the first people never to back out of her life."

Sarah went off to take a shower with a thoughtful hum while I scanned the news. There was something about "The Lost Vermeer" which was being hailed as the biggest artistic find of the century and most likely worth over twenty million pounds.

But that's when I saw the headline that read "House Destroyed on Baker Street" and nearly had a heart attack.

I cranked up the volume, frantically getting dressed more properly (shoes, coat, and all that) as I listened to the newsreaders.

"There's been a massive explosion in central London. As of yet, there are no reports of any casualties, and the police are unable to say if there is any suspicion of terrorist involvement."

I looked at the screen in utter horror as the picture changed to show live footage of a series of Scotland Yard officials keeping people away from a rubble-ridden street. I couldn't tell which flat it was, but I didn't stop to check as I hurried to pull on my last shoe.

"Sarah!"

No answer.

"Sarah- I-" I faltered, my eyes falling back on the screen that showed utter destruction. "I have to go."

Without even leaving a note, I bolted to Baker Street.

* * *

><p>After weaving through detectives, onlookers, and rubble, I managed to make it inside 221B without too much of a hassle, but my heart was pounding against my chest all the same.<p>

"Aurora! Sherlock! For the love of God, tell me you're alright!" I called while hurrying into the living room. I stopped short at the doorway, gaze lingering on the boarded up windows for a moment before moving to Sherlock. He was seated in his armchair (now properly dressed and healthy, thank God) and plucking absentmindedly at the strings of his violin while the bloody British Government sat in my usual chair. Aurora was curled up on the couch, buried beneath a mound of blankets as she dozed in and out of sleep.

Sherlock didn't acknowledge my existence except with a simple "John" that had Mycroft's head turning towards me, but I decided I would deal with the government later.

"I saw it on the Telly," I explained, glancing towards my daughter as I asked, "Are you all okay?"

Sherlock glanced around at the broken glass around him and newly scattered paperwork with a thoughtful hum. "Well, I am perfectly alright, but I am afraid your adopted daughter took the brunt of the blast that reached us. She had to have a shard of glass removed from her arm, but overall she's fine. It was a gas leak, apparently."

"Why is it always glass?" Aurora whined from her little blanket-burrow, peeking her head out at me with a pitiful look. "First it's the bloody glass windows at the bloody Buckingham Palace and then it's the bloody glass windows at Baker Street. When I get my own home, the windows are going to be _plastic_."

Mycroft shot a glare at her, as if demanding an apology, but Aurora simply snapped at him, "Oi! I was nearly _killed_ at that stupid Palace despite your apparent orders to your men not to harm me. I will insult the place all I want."

I immediately moved to Aurora's side, picking up bits and pieces of Sherlock's conversation with his brother while I examined the poor girl for any other injuries.

"I can't, Mycroft."

"Can't?"

"The stuff I've got on is just too big. I can't spare the time."

Scoffing slightly to myself at that thought, I gently helped Aurora lay on her back, prodding at her ribs gently to see if there was any fracturing because I was an overprotective mess at this point.

"Never mind your usual trivia, Sherlock. This is of national importance."

"How's the diet?"

I had just approved Aurora of being in good health besides that little cut and was moving to investigate the damage to my flat's poor windows when Mycroft turned to me.

"Perhaps you can get through to him, John. I'm afraid my brother can be very stubborn."

Of course, this one remark sent everything spiraling downwards from there until it came to the point where even Aurora was groaning in annoyance from her place curled up on the couch.

Eventually, Mycroft tried to offer his brother a file but gave it to me upon Sherlock's insistent glare.

"Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends," Mycroft started, the corners of his lips pricking up slightly when Aurora scrambled over to me to glance at the file in curiosity. "A civil servant, found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in."

"Jumped in front of a train?" I hummed thoughtfully, scanning the file absentmindedly and lowering it upon Aurora's tug on my jumper that meant _You're-too-tall-and-I-can't-see-it_.

"Seems the logical assumption, doesn't it, John?" Mycroft hummed thoughtfully, only to be cut off by my little preteen.

Aurora grinned, and I resisted the urge to pinch the apples of her cheeks as they puffed out like they usually did when she smiled. It made her look downright adorable as she drawled out, "_But_…?"

"But?"

"Well, you wouldn't be here if it was just an accident," I pointed out, earning a small smile from Sherlock who nodded his approval.

Mycroft tilted his head to the side slightly, eyes fixed on Aurora as he stated, "The M.O.D. is working on a new missile defense system. The Bruce-Partington Program, it's called. The plans for it were on a memory stick."

"Well, that wasn't very clever," Aurora mumbled in disapproval. "Even if it was just a copy, really? A bloody flash drive?"

"It is _not_ the only copy, but it _is_ a secret. And missing."

"_Top_ secret?" Aurora emphasized with that devious little look I had come to only associate with her. "Like, _Eiffel Tower _top secret?"

While I laughed at her rather absurd analogy, Mycroft looked none too pleased, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "I begin to doubt coming to you lot for assistance, but, yes, it is of the upmost secrecy. We think West must have taken the memory stick. We cannot possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands, so you have got to find those plans."

The older brother turned to Sherlock, giving him a glare and a muttered, "Don't make me order you," before turning back to me and offering me his hand to shake. "Goodbye, John."

He nodded to Aurora before turning away with the call, "See you soon," and leaving.

"Well, how many cameras do you think he's planted in here to spy on us?"

Sherlock and I gave Aurora a good-natured glare, and she immediately put up her hands in a defensive position, explaining, "I'm just sayin' that he seemed to touch a lot of things that were unnecessary. Underneath the coffee table, bookshelf- He even touched Steve's skull."

As Aurora scampered about the flat in search of hidden cameras, I sat down on the coffee table, glancing at my friend curiously, "Why'd you lie to your brother?"

"You may wish to be a bit more specific, John."

"About being busy?"

"Why not?"

"Sibling rivalry, is it?" I was about to say more when Sherlock's phone buzzed, and I was soon dragging Aurora away from a mess of tiny cameras she had procured from seemingly nowhere in favor of a cab ride to Scotland Yard. We were greeted by Detective Inspector Lestrade as soon as we arrived, Aurora going out of her way to tackle the man in a hug which he chuckled and reciprocated with a fond smile. "Well, hello there to you too. Can't really say I'm surprised to see you here, though. Sherlock likes the funny cases, doesn't he? The surprising ones."

"Obviously. But I'll be right back. Need to use the loo," Aurora called, darting off into the building without another word.

"You'll love this, Sherlock," Lestrade said thoughtfully once we finally reached his office. "That explosion…"

"Gas leak, yes?"

"No."

"No?"

"No, made to look like 's hardly anything left of the place except a strong box and inside it was a white envelope. Here."

"You haven't opened it?"

"Well, it _is_ addressed to you," Lestrade pointed out, and thus Sherlock began his deductions (or his Show-Off-Parade as Aurora called it). He determined the stationary was Bohemian, from the Czech Republic, and written by a woman who used a fountain pen with an iridium nib, to be exact.

Still, that paled in comparison to what was inside the envelope. There was the pink phone, or at least a well-made replica as Sherlock pointed out.

"That's the pink phone, from A Study in Pink?"

"A replica, as I've already stated-" He stopped short, casting the detective inspector an appalled look. "You read his blog?"

"Of course he does," Aurora piped up from behind, strolling up casually and peering at the phone. "Even I have read 'A Study in Pink', and I was locked in a bloody asylum. Oh, and yes, Detective Inspector, he truly does not know the earth revolves around the sun."

She smiled suddenly, gesturing towards the phone. "It's a rather good fake, but the phone's too new. Look at the sockets, Uncle. No scratches."

He nodded, continuing to twirl the cell in his hands. "But someone's gone through a lot of trouble to make it look like the original phone, so _somebody's_ been reading his damned blog."

"Don't blame my father and just turn on the phone," Aurora ushered impatiently, and when he did, we were greeted by an informative voice stating that there was one new message. It played, revealing the sound of four short blips and a longer one at the end.

"Is that it?" I questioned, moving round Aurora to get a good look when Sherlock shook his head and informed, "No. That's not it."

There was a photograph uploaded, a picture of an unfurnished room with a fireplace on one wall along with a few shoddy mirrors about the place, one above the mantel and one in the corner.

"What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!" Lestrade growled angrily, but the two geniuses in the room only looked thoughtful.

"It's a warning," Sherlock finally decided. "Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that. Five pips. They are warning us it's going to happen again. And I've seen this place before."

I turned to follow Sherlock when he left the office, grabbing Aurora's hand so she'd follow. "Hang on, Sherlock. What's going to happen again?"

"Boom."

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><p><strong>Another update. Yay! Seriously though, guys, I'd love to know what you think. If you have any ideas you want incorporated into the story or have any questions, just drop a review! Any ideas you have I'll do my best to incorporate into the story, and I'd be more than happy to answer any questions you have. :) 'Til next time, I bid you adieu! <strong>


	4. Chapter 3: A Great Game Part III

_**Chapter 3**_

_**"A Great Game- Part III"**_

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><p>We ended up in the other flat Mrs. Hudson kept, but I forced Aurora to wait at Speedy's, my not wanting her anywhere near 221B in case there was another bomb.<p>

The flat was just like the picture except for a pair of sneakers seated in the middle of the room. After warning Sherlock about the fact that they _might_ be explosive, he moved to pick them up only to have all of us practically jump out of our skin when the pink phone rang. He had some sort of conversation on the phone, but all I could hear on the other end was a woman sobbing even as Sherlock hung up with the murmur, "And the curtain rises."

Aurora eventually returned to the flat on her own ambition, and I remained with her while Sherlock went off to Saint Bartholomew's to run some tests on those shoes. (I was to meet him there later.)

"Dad?"

"Yeah, Aurora?"

"It- It wasn't a gas leak, was it? It was a bombing, right?"

I nodded, not giving it much thought. "Yeah. Now while I'm off working this case, I want you to stay with Mrs. Hudson in her flat, alright? I'm not going to be around too often, and I don't want you to be alone."

Then came the onslaught of tears that had me thoroughly alarmed. I turned towards her instantly, my heart clenching painfully when she shook her head, hands moving to clutch at her hair. "No… Oh, God, no."

"Sweetheart, what's the matter?" I asked softly, placing my hands on her shoulders and gently turning her to look at me. "Are you alright?"

"He- He's back, Dad," Aurora stammered, face paling dreadfully to the point where I thought she was going to be sick.

"Who's back, Honey? Tell me who's back."

"Just before the explosion, I thought I saw him leaving the building. I- I played it up to a trick of the mind from my nightmares, but now I _know_."

"Aurora, who was it?" I questioned more sternly, using my hand to force her head upwards so she met my eyes. "Was it someone we know?"

"M-Moriarty."

I wrapped my arms more tightly around my daughter, making soft soothing noises when she began to shiver in fear.

"Oh, God. I'll give you my revolver, yeah? I'll even call Lestrade and have him put men round the perimeter of Baker Street. Sweetheart, I won't let him hurt you. You just need to stay here and stay calm, m'kay?"

"Just- Just catch him. Please? Make sure Uncle Sherlock gets him?" was all she asked when I left her at Mrs. Hudson's doorstep. She was holding my pistol tightly in her little hands, finger lingering on the safety. I placed my hands around hers to still the shaking and frowned at how cold they were.

"Do not hesitate to call me for anything, alright?" I insisted quietly, moving my hands to her shoulders once she calmed a bit. "If anything happens here, even if you _think_ you hear the doorknob turn, call."

I sighed, pulling away slowly. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay until Mrs. Hudson arrives? I know the flat is open for you, but it'd be safer for someone to stay, don't you think?"

She shook her head, laughing bitterly as tears still trickled down her cheeks. "I'll be fine. After all, I've faced him once before."

"Be safe?"

"Like I could help it," she scoffed, waving goodbye with the gun-hand. "Just catch 'im, and I'll be fine."

I headed to the morgue without another word, sighing heavily with worry as I entered St. Bartholomew's. I informed Sherlock of everything that happened, to which I was given a glare.

"And you left her alone, John?" Sherlock hissed in disapproval, withdrawing his phone from his pocket. "As if those dogs at Scotland Yard could do anything to protect her. I'd better text Mycroft to send over more worthy guards."

"She told me to come and help you, y'know, and the sooner we get this done, the sooner I can hug the poor dear close and spoil her rotten," I dismissed. "So, who do you suppose it was?"

Sherlock, completely ignoring the fact that his phone had just buzzed, didn't even answer me.

"The woman on the phone. Who was she?"

He spared me a brief glance, scoffing lightly before he turned back to his microscope. "Oh, she doesn't matter. She's just a hostage. No lead there."

I tried not to register the full meaning of that, but I couldn't hold it back any longer and blurted, "Sherlock, I wasn't thinking of the leads!"

"Why? You're not going to be much use to her, are you?"

His phone trilled again, cutting off my next retorts when he asked, "Pass me my phone."

Then I decided against killing the bugger when I found out that it was in his damned _pocket_, and I spared no gentleness as I rummaged about his coat for it while he hissed at me to be careful.

"It's a text from your brother."

"Delete it."

"Why?"

"The missile plans are out of the country now. Nothing we can do about it."

I glanced at the message again, sighing in defeat. "Well, Mycroft thinks there is. He's texted you eight times. Must be important."

"Then why didn't he cancel his dentist appointment? Mycroft never texts if he can talk. Look, John, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains. End of story. The only mystery is this why is my brother so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting?"

"Try and remember there's a woman here who might die," I all but growled, my temper nearly breaking when he asked, "What for? This hospital's full of dying people, Doctor. Why don't you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them?"

"And so my crying at Aurora's bedside when she nearly_ died_ was unwarranted?" I snarled beneath my breath, fists clenching unconsciously at the memory whereas Sherlock let out a delighted noise in response to his experiment coming to a close.

"Any luck?" I looked up at Molly's voice, offering her a weak smile as she came over to look at the screen revealing the results.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to…"

Sherlock and I snapped alert at the new voice, my eyes narrowing as Molly exclaimed happily, "Jim, hi!"

_Jim_? Didn't Aurora say Moriarty's name was James?

"Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes and um… John Watson."

Jim's eyes were fixed on Sherlock's, his gaze filled with something akin to admiration while Sherlock seemed to come to same conclusion I had.

"So you're Sherlock Holmes," Jim drawled out, a tad too happily for my liking. "Molly's told me all about you. You on one of your cases?"

"Jim works in I.T. upstairs. That's how we met. Office romance," Molly giggled, and Jim gave her a smile.

"Gay," Sherlock muttered beneath his breath, not even looking away from his microscope, but Molly didn't seem to hear him, asking, "What?"

"Nothing, nothing," he dismissed, raising his head and giving Jim a smile even I knew was fake. "Um, hey."

"Hey." And that's when Jim knocked off a dish from the table, laughing nervously while he picked it up. "Sorry! So sorry!"

I face-palmed, knowing full well that would send Sherlock into an even more irritable mood. I was proved right when the idiot left, and Sherlock decided to ruin poor Molly Hooper's relationship.

"What do you mean, gay?" Molly asked in disbelief. "We're together."

"And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you."

Sherlock also apparently felt the need to insult her figure.

"Two and a half, Sherlock."

"No, decently sure it's three."

At that point, all I could do was warn, "Sherlock…"

Obviously, his words had hit a mark when Molly denied, "He's not gay!" Why do you have to spoil everything? He's not-"

"With that level of personal grooming?"

"Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? _I _put product in my hair," I pointed out in a vain attempt to get him to shut up.

"You wash your hair, John. There's a difference. No, no. You see, tinted eyelashes, clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines… Then there's his underwear. It was visible above the waistline: very visible, very particular brand."

He paused, reaching for that dish Jim had knocked off and retrieving a card beneath it. "There's that, plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here. I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain."

The poor girl nearly broke into tears at that, dashing out of the morgue without another word while I was left to chew out the detective for just being downright rude.

He cut me off mid-rant, tossing me the sneakers from earlier. "Go on, then."

"Hmm?"

"You know what I do. Off you go."

I shook my head. "No."

"Go on."

"I'm not gonna stand here so you can humiliate me while I try and-"

"An outside eye, a second opinion. It's very useful to me," he drawled out expectantly, crossing his arms like the brat he was. "Really."

I rolled my eyes upon seeing he wasn't going to give in any time soon. "Fine. Have it your way, as always."

I glanced at the shoes, turning them in my hands absentmindedly. "I don't know. They're just a pair of shoes. Trainers, I mean."

"Good."

"Well, they're in good nick. I'd say they were pretty new except… except the sole has been well-worn, so the owner must have had them for a while. Uh, they're very eighties, probably one of those retro designs.

"What else?"

"Well, they're quite big, so a man's."

"But…?"

I glanced inside one show, opening them a bit wider to get a better look. "There are traces of a name inside in felt-tip. Adults don't write their names inside their shoes, so these belonged to a kid."

"Excellent. What else?"

I shook my head, just giving him the bloody trainers.

"That's it?"

"How did I do?"

"I wish Aurora were here right now; this would be so much more fun," was the only answer I received before he started rattling off facts, "The owner loved these. Scrubbed them clean, whitened them where they got discolored. Changed the laces three, no, four times. Even so, there are traces of his flaky skin where his fingers have come into contact with them, so he suffered from eczema. Shoes are well-worn, more so on the inside, which means the owner had weak arches. British-made, twenty years old."

"Twenty years?"

He nodded. "They're not retro, John. They're original. Limited edition: two blue stripes, 1989."

"But there's still mud on them, Sherlock. They look new."

"Someone's kept them that way," Sherlock remarked thoughtfully, setting down the trainers and glancing at me. "Quite a bit of mud caked on the soles. Analysis shows it's from Sussex with London mud overlaying it."

"How do you know?"

"Pollen spores. They're as good as a map." He nodded in direction to the screen showing the results from his test. "South of the river, too. So, the kid who owned these trainers came to London from Sussex twenty years ago and left them behind."

"So what happened to him?

Sherlock practically blanched. "Carl Powers."

I looked at him in confusion. "Sorry, who?

He wouldn't meet my eyes, gaze fixed on some unknown object in the distance. "Carl Powers, John. It's where I began."

* * *

><p><strong>Reviews help me write, guys! Anything you have to say, whether questions, criticism, or comments, I'll read it and take to heart! Even if you have something that you want to happen later throughout the story, I'll read it! Any recommendations or ideas you have I'll incorporate it into the story. All you have to do is say the word, and if it fits, I'll add it. :)<strong>


	5. Chapter 4: A Great Game Part IV

_**Chapter 4**_

_**"A Great Game- Part 4"**_

* * *

><p>"1989, a young kid, champion swimmer, came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament. He drowned in the pool. Tragic accident," Sherlock explained in the cab ride. "You wouldn't remember it. I was only a kid myself."<p>

"But you remember," I pointed out. "Something fishy about it?"

"Nobody thought so, nobody except me. I read about it in the papers. The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out it was too late. But there was something wrong, something I couldn't get out of my head."

"What?"

"His shoes… They weren't there. I made a fuss; I tried to get the police interested, but nobody seemed to think it was important. He had left all the rest of his clothes in his locker, but there was no sign of his shoes… until now."

Sherlock shut himself in the kitchen as soon as we got back to the flat while I retrieved Aurora and just over all coddled the poor thing, and, despite her muttering about personal space, it was clear she was enjoying the spoiling. I was just worried. I was worried for that poor woman on the phone, and I was worried for Aurora. My mind was in such a twist that I completely forgot to ask Aurora what Moriarty looked like, and the only thought making it through my rattled mind was about how Aurora preferred peanut butter on her sandwiches, not jam.

She was nibbling on the end of one of the before-mentioned sandwiches while I anxiously paced the flat, Aurora's hand still on the pistol I gave to her for safety. Eventually, I entered the kitchen, unable to help myself anymore, and simply stated, "I want to help."

I was ignored, and Aurora gave me a look that almost had me sitting back down. She had that expression on her face that looked like a wounded puppy, her eyes big and glistening like she was going to tear up. Aurora never knew she was doing it, and I blame my constant coddling on those puppy-dog eyes of hers.

"There's only five hours left; I want to help," I called again, barely resisting the urge to just hug Aurora close and never let go. That's when I got the text message.

_Any developments? -MH_

"It's your brother, Sherlock. He's texting _me_ now."

I sighed, giving Aurora a look that said I'd be back at her side soon before entering the kitchen. "Look, he did say 'national importance'."

"How quaint."

"You can't just ignore it."

"I'm not ignoring it. Putting my best man onto it right now."

"Right. Good." I nodded in approval, moving back to sit beside my daughter on the couch. I was about to say something when I got the sad eyes again from her.

"Dad."

"Yeah?"

"_You're _his best man."

With that, I found myself in coat and tie, sitting in some posh office due to Sherlock's schemes.

"John. How nice. I was hoping you wouldn't be long. How can I help you?"

"Well, I was wanting to…" I shook my head slightly, rephrasing my thoughts. "Your brother, he sent me to collect more facts about the stolen plans, the missile plans."

"Did he?" Mycroft hummed thoughtfully, smirking in a way that had me resisting the urge to fidget.

"Yes. He's investigating now. Yep. He's investigating away."

Even I could tell Mycroft didn't believe me. Hell, I wouldn't have believed me either.

"Well… I just wondered what else you can tell me about the dead man," I decided eventually.

"Twenty-seven. Clerk at Vauxhall Cross – er, MI6. He was involved in the Bruce-Partington Programme in a minor capacity. Security checks okay. No known terrorist affiliations or sympathies. Last seen by his fiancée at ten thirty yesterday evening."

"Right. He was found at Battersea, yes? So he got on the train," I concluded.

"No."

"What?"

"He had an Oyster card…" Mycroft flinched, putting a hand to his mouth, and I wondered if Sherlock had been right about that root canal he had mentioned earlier. "But it hadn't been used."

"Must have bought a ticket."

"There was no ticket on the body. Yes, then how did he end up with a bashed-in brain on the tracks at Battersea? That is the question, the one I was rather hoping Sherlock would provide an answer to. How's he getting on?"

"He- He's fine, yes, and- and it is going very well. He's completely focused on it." I grinned sheepishly, excusing myself as quickly as I could. Unlike Sherlock, I wasn't fond of lying to the British Government.

I came home to find that Sherlock had moved to the side table in the kitchen and was looking into that microscope of his. Aurora and I were soon just contently sipping our mugs of hot chocolate that Mrs. Hudson had brought up when Sherlock decided to suddenly slam his fist into the table and shout, "Poison!"

Of course, my first reaction was to spit out what I was drinking, but Aurora clamped a hand over my mouth with an exhausted sigh before I could. "Not the cocoa, Dad. The shoes. Carl Powers. All that nonsense."

"Clostridium botulinum, Aurora! It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet!"

"And you're only coming to that conclusion now? I could have told you that hours ago."

Aurora sounded truly confused when we all turned to her, like she had expected that we already knew that. "What? I had some experience with it back at Parkhurst. Psycho Steve taught me all about it."

Sherlock cast her an unbelieving look, but Aurora simply walked beside us and gestured to the shoelaces. "Powers suffered from eczema, right? You put the poison in his medication first. Then, two hours later he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyses the muscles and he drowns. Thus, you have a dead kid in a pool with a virtually undetectable poison in his system."

"Why didn't you say this sooner?" Sherlock snapped angrily, but Aurora simply pouted at him, a look even he couldn't fight at times.

"I thought you knew. It was the first thing my mind jumped to when I read the article."

"Never mind that," I dismissed, pressing an appreciative kiss to the crown of Aurora's head as we watched Sherlock flip open his laptop to his Science of Deduction website and type into the message box.

_FOUND. Pair of trainers belonging to Carl Powers (1978-1989). Botulinum toxin still present. Apply 221b Baker St._

"The trainers still had the residue on them so the murderer had to keep them, John. They then showed up at the bombings, so we can conclude the murderer is our bomber."

"So how do we let the bomber know you solved it?" I spoke up, but Aurora jabbed her elbow in my side.

"He just _did_, Dad."

Then the pink phone went off, and Sherlock received the address for that poor woman on the phone.

But that couldn't have been it, could it? No, we had to have more pips, more cases, more chances for Aurora to get hurt.

Every time I returned home, no matter how late, Aurora was always in the same place, curled up in the corner of Mrs. Hudson's flat so she had an eye on all doors and windows. She had that cold look in her eyes that I recognized as her will to survive, the look that I saw far too much of during that Parkhurst deal.

Five pips. Five hostages.

The crying lady.

The scared man.

The blind woman.

The little boy.

And one more, one more that I still wish wasn't forced into his clutches.


	6. Chapter 5: A Great Game Part V

_**Chapter 5**_

_**A Great Game- Part V**_

* * *

><p>Carl Powers was murdered.<p>

The Vermeer was a fake.

I should have been the last pip.

But she was instead.

I don't think I will ever forgive myself for not being there to protect her, for not being able to save her from having her worst nightmare come true.

I had decided it was time to take Aurora to Sarah's, using it as an excuse to also get a second opinion on Aurora's health, and I made the mistake of letting her go on ahead to call a cab for us while I fetched us both of our coats. It hadn't even been a minute, but as soon as I stepped outside, I found nothing of Aurora but my pistol sitting in a small pool of blood that I knew was hers. The streets were still, and there was not even a car passing by, much less a pedestrian.

I nearly dragged Sherlock out of his chair, my mind fogging with the effects of grief and guilt and so many other emotions that I couldn't damn _think_.

I found myself just complying to whatever Sherlock said, and it wasn't long before I found myself at the pool where Carl Powers had been murdered. I stayed back in the shadows as Sherlock requested, taking in the scene around us while my left hand clutched at my pistol that rested in my coat pocket. The lights were on, but the gallery where people watch the swimmers was still in darkness, and Sherlock seemed very aware of that fact. He walked towards the shallow end of the pool, memory stick held in the air, and called loudly, "Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present. Oh, that's what it's all been for, hasn't it? All your little puzzles, making me dance, it was all to distract me from this."

He turned in a full circle, but as soon as his back was turned to the pool, the door at the other end of the room opened. I had to bite my knuckle to keep from crying out at the sight of my little Aurora Watson walking through the door and into the pool area, wrapped snugly in a hooded jacket with her hands tucked into the pockets. I remained back though, ducked into the shadows as Sherlock ordered me to.

"Evening." She practically snarled the word, teeth grit in obvious discontent as she continued speaking. "This is a turn-up, isn't it, Uncle-"

She faltered, letting out a sharp cry as her entire body jerked, and she nearly went down to the floor in pain.

"Shock collar," Sherlock muttered. "Aurora, just say my name. It's alright. There's no need for the title, and I won't call it disrespect."

She steadied herself on her feet, eyes closed as she tried to catch her breath. "This is a turn-up, isn't it, _Sherlock_?"

Sherlock lowered his hand that held the memory stick, and I could tell he was fighting more than ever to keep his emotions at bay.

"Bet you never saw this coming," Aurora forced out, her voice sounding strangled as she slowly took her hands from her pockets to pull apart her jacket and reveal the bomb strapped to her chest. There was the red light dancing along the bomb that meant one thing only, and that thing was snipers. "What would you like me to make her say next?"

Sherlock stepped closers to Aurora, eyes darting around as he tried to find Moriarty who was obviously here.

"Gottle o' geer... gottle o' geer... gottle o' geer," Aurora repeated, narrating whatever she heard over some sort of earpiece, but it was enough to finally make Sherlock snap.

"Stop it!"

"Nice touch, this, the pool where little Carl died. I stopped him. I can stop Aurora Watson too. Stop her heart. How would you like that, Da-"

She let out a sharp hiss of pain, falling to her knees this time as she cursed, "He's my bloody father, you imbecile, and I will call him as such. Why don't you just get out here and show them who you are, you bloody _coward_?"

The only thing she received for her bravery was another shock, but she made sure to land on all fours, refusing to let the bomb make contact with anything.

"Where are you?" Sherlock demanded furiously, barely registering my new presence at his side. Aurora gave me a desperate look, begging me with her eyes to stay away despite how I wanted to just run to her.

"I gave you my number."

I shared a horrified look with Sherlock at the voice before turning my attention to _Jim_ who was strolling leisurely around the deep end of the pool towards us. "I thought you might call."

He came a tad closer. "Now, Sherlock, is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?"

"Both," was Sherlock's simple response as both he and I raised our pistols and aimed it at the bastard who had _dared_ to touch my little girl.

He didn't look afraid whatsoever, simply giving a giddy wave and a smile. "Jim Moriarty. Hi! It's Jim. Jim from the hospital?"

"I thought you went by _James_," Aurora sneered, only to gasp again in pain when Moriarty clicked a button on the small device he had.

"Quiet now, Honey. The adults are talking," he scolded with a coo, and I took an instinctive step closer to my daughter, not liking the tone he was using at _all_.

"Oh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression?" Moriarty pouted at us, sighing like a child that didn't receive enough attention. "But then, I suppose, that was rather the point."

I glanced at Aurora only to find that she had made it to her feet, the red beam fixed just over her heart.

Moriarty giggled at Sherlock's obvious confusion, answering, "Don't be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty."

He faltered, strolling to the corner of the pool so he stood just beside Aurora. He stroked her hair, something that I felt suddenly very territorial of, considering that was what _I_ did. She was _my_ daughter, and I'd be damned if I let anyone else do it.

"I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world," Moriarty hummed, brushing a blood matted strand of hair from Aurora's face. "I'm a specialist, you see… just like you!

"Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister?"

Moriarty grinned when he realized Sherlock was quoting a series on the Telly.

"Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?"

"Just so," Moriarty grinned, giggling even more so when Sherlock murmured, "Consulting criminal… Brilliant."

The bastard smiled proudly, and I nearly lost it when he stooped down, pressing a kiss to the crown of Aurora's head before wrapping an arm around her, making a show of it all. "Isn't it? No one ever gets to me, and no one ever will.

"I did, and let's not forget my beloved _niece_."

"Yes, you two have come the closest. Now you, Sherlock, are in my way."

"Thank you."

"I didn't mean it as a compliment."

"Yes you did."

Jim shrugged, arm never straying from its place around Aurora. She was calm and collected despite the little flinch she made whenever he touched her, but the monster seemed to enjoy that reaction out of her. "Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirting's over, Sherlock… Daddy's had enough now! Isn't that right, my little belladonna?"

He crooned the last bit, nuzzling against Aurora's hair and whispering something unintelligible in her ear.

"No."

"Say it," Moriarty cooed, pressing his fingers against the top of her head, undoubtedly where she had been bludgeoned.

"No."

"You have no choice."

"You're _not_ my father," was all Aurora managed to spit in his face before she let out a sharp cry, hands clutching at the collar round her neck as she fell to her knees with a whimper.

He was breaking her. The bastard was breaking my little girl before my very eyes.

Moriarty looked away from Aurora without a second glance, smiling at Sherlock and myself.

"I've shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play. So take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back off. Although I have loved this- this little game of ours." He changed his accent, playing Jim from I.T. "Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?"

"People have died," Sherlock said simply.

"That's what people DO!" Moriarty screamed the last word, personality changing to full blown anger before quickly snapping back to his calm, placid one.

"I will stop you," Aurora growled at the same time as Sherlock, my poor daughter's eyes fixed on me while Moriarty resumed stroking her hair again.

"No you won't, little belladonna. You won't."

"You all right?" Sherlock whispered more gently to the hostage, and Aurora nodded slightly.

He seemed to relax a bit, his hand with the memory stick being held out towards the bastard. "Take it."

"He doesn't want the missile plans. He wants _me_," Aurora blurted out before receiving a sharp slap across the face, causing her to sputter and spit blood.

"_Never _ruin Daddy's dramatics," Moriarty growled at her before stepping forwards to smack the memory stick into the pool.

"Thought you didn't like getting your hands dirty, _James_."

Aurora grinned after making that remark, leaping to her feet and jumping onto her kidnapper's back. She wrapped her arms around his throat tight enough to cut off the air supply, her legs circling around his chest in a way that ensured he couldn't drop her since his arms were pinned.

"_Run_."

Sherlock and I froze, pistols fixed on Moriarty, but fingers lingering on the trigger.

"Good! Very good," Moriarty cackled in approval.

"If your sniper pulls that trigger, _James_, then we both go up," Aurora stated simply before fixing her eyes on Sherlock. "There's not enough explosives strapped to me to kill you and Dad. You shoot, and we end Moriarty here. Please, just do it."

The logical thing would have been to shoot, but for once Sherlock wasn't following the logical choice much to my relief. Our hands never left our weapons, but we never fired despite Aurora's pleas.

"Isn't she sweet?" Moriarty cooed in delight. "I can see why you like having her around. But then people do get so sentimental about their pets. They're so touchingly loyal. But, oops! You've rather shown your hand there, Aurora _Watson_."

He chuckled as a new laser point appeared in the middle of Sherlock's forehead, and I had no doubt there was one fixed on me as well. "Gotcha!"

Aurora released her hold on him and hopped back, holding her hands up to show she wouldn't try anything else. Moriarty glanced back at her, patting her head like a dog as he crooned some babbling nonsense at her.

"Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock? What happens to you?" Moriarty hummed thoughtfully upon turning back to us.

"Let me guess. I get killed."

"Kill you? No, no, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm gonna kill you anyway some day. I don't wanna rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special. No-no-no-no-no. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you. I'll burn the _heart_ out of you."

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one."

"But we both know that's not quite true."

He glanced back at Aurora, reaching out an arm to cup her cheek in his palm. She didn't move an inch, eyes open and staring straight ahead of her in a way that would make any drill sergeant proud. He stroked her cheek fondly, humming thoughtfully to himself. "She's a pretty little thing isn't she? She'd be an easy way to gain confidence in a target. Who'd question those eyes? Then she'd grow up, become undoubtedly beautiful, and it'd become even easier for her to kill. Oh, it'd be so fun to corrupt her. I tried once. Shock therapy… It didn't work well, but I'm trying it again now as you can see."

He sighed, as if truly upset by this fact, and said sadly, "She just won't recognize me as Daddy."

"That's because you're a heartless monster that can't find anything better to do instead of kidnapping twelve year-old girls. How's Sebastian doing by the way?"

The remark was met by a strong right hook that sent Aurora sprawling backwards. I moved towards her instinctively, but Sherlock put a hand on my arm to stop me.

"Well, I'd better be off," Moriarty called, only to turn back when Sherlock clicked off the safety and leveled it at the bastard's head.

"What if I was to shoot you right now?

"Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face. 'Cause I'd be surprised, Sherlock; really, I would. And just a teensy bit disappointed. And of course you would't be able to cherish it for very long." He turned away, giving a little wave as he headed towards the door and left. "Ciao, Sherlock Holmes."

"Alright?" Sherlock questioned to which Aurora didn't respond, simply getting to her feet unsteadily. "Are you alright, Aurora?"

"Yeah… Yeah, I'm fine, but he's- he's coming back. I know he is. It's what he /does/," Aurora stammered when Sherlock and I both rushed to her side, hastily unfastening the Semtex vest. After the vest was undone, Sherlock hurried behind and pulled the jacket and bomb vest off in on go before sliding it far across the room and then removing the shock collar from her neck.

"Please, we have to get out of here; he'll come back-!" I cut Aurora off by yanking that damned earpiece out of her ear and using my sleeve to wipe off any place on her that Moriarty touched.

"You're fine, Sweetheart. You're okay now," I soothed, rubbing at her cheek and then her forehead. I finished the process by pressing a kiss to her hairline, wrapping her up in my arms possessively while I fought the tears that threatened to make themselves known. "Oh, God, I thought I lost you. I thought he was going to take you away for good."

Her legs buckled beneath her just then, and I was immediately easing her down against the wall, guiding her head between her legs to fight off the nausea.

"Just relax. Calm down, Honey." I stayed kneeling at her side, my fingers gently brushing along the wound at the back of her skull. "Good news: you don't need stitches, but you may have a concussion, although I doubt it what with the way you heal and all."

"Daddy, I want to go home."

My heart practically shattered at the term, spoken so softly. "Sweetheart, I-"

"Daddy, _please_…"

I moved to picked her up into my arms, but before I could, the red beam from the sniper made itself known again on Aurora's chest along with one on Sherlock's, and, undoubtedly, on my own.

"Sorry, boys! I'm _so _changeable! You should have listened to the little one if you wanted to make it out alive. Also, Aurora, I'm hurt! You call him Daddy but not me? My little belladonna should know better!"

I growled angrily at the monster's reappearance, but I made no move to back away from Aurora.

"It is a weakness with me but, to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness," Moriarty drawled out with a grin. "You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!"

"Probably my answer has crossed yours."

I caught a slight glimpse of Aurora's smile when Sherlock raised the pistol to first point at Moriarty before lowering it and aiming it directly at the Semtex vest that was just a meter away from the bastard. Sherlock met Moriarty's gaze in a battle of wills, but it didn't last long due to the interruption of "Stayin' Alive" by The Bee Gees.

"Really, we're in the greatest stalemate of the century, and your bloody phone goes off?" Aurora groaned in annoyance, and she moved to stand up, but I gently forced her back down, noting how pale in the face she was.

Moriarty seemed to ignore Aurora's comment, sighing in exasperation. "Do you mind if I get that?

Sherlock rolled his eyes at that. "No, no, _please_. You've got the rest of your life."

Taking his phone from the pocket, he began to pace a bit back and forth, answering, "Hello? …Yes, of course it is. What do you want?"

He turned back to us and mouthed 'Sorry' at Sherlock, who sarcastically mouthed back 'Oh, it's fine', much to Aurora's amusement when she couldn't suppress a small giggle. Sherlock gave her a fond look at the noise, but Moriarty rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his cell. He snapped, personality instantly changing as he roared into the phone, "SAY THAT AGAIN!"

He growled darkly, hissing, "Say that again, and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you, and I will _sssskin_ you."

He faltered, saying into the phone, "Wait," before lowering it and walking towards the bomb jacket. "Sorry, wrong day to die."

"Oh. Did you get a better offer?" Sherlock scoffed but received no answer.

"You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock. Oh, and you too, Aurora," Moriarty called before turning back to his cell and leaving the pool. "So, if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes."

With a snap of Moriarty's fingers, the snipers were gone, and he left just as swiftly.

I waited a few moments before stooping back down beside Aurora and checking her pulse all while asking, "What happened there?"

"Someone changed his mind. The question is who?"

"Uncle Sherlock?" Aurora piped up tiredly, words slurring together even as I eased her small form up into my arms. Her head lulled against my shoulder, a hand reaching out to him.

Hesitantly, he took it. "Yes?"

"Do me a favor and throw out all the belladonna we keep for experiments? I don't want to see another bit of it ever again…"

"Understandably," Sherlock concluded, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. He gestured to the door, smiling lightly. "Shall we?"

* * *

><p><strong>Hi, guys. I promise I'm not dead. I've just been going through some not-so fun stuff, but I'm gonna try and update at least once a week. Well, on that note, reviews keep me going and encourage me <em>not<em> to let this completely die. So review! (Please?)**


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